by Alex Sapegin
“Silence!” the administrator shut them up.
“On behalf of my mother,” Andy went all-in. He realized that competing with them with his narrow experience of intrigue and verbal battles was useless. To achieve victory, he had to drive the opponents into a state of shock and deprive them of the upper hand, but many dragons’ eyes had glazed over already. You do not have to be a genius of logical deduction to understand that the winged race is actively calculating the situation and preparing logical traps for the subsequent conversation. “My name is Kerrovitarr Gurd; I am the son of Empress Jagirra,” he cried out, changing his hypostasis and summoning the key.
The hum of the crowd hushed like as if someone had waved a magic wand. The crystal dragon, dropping his old scales, turned to Ania:
“How do you like me now?” he asked, scratching his right side with his hind paw.
Celestial Empire. The emperor’s southern high command…
A bright sunbeam, reflecting off a black marble column that was so polished you could see your reflection in it, fell on the face of the old dragon lying on the very edge of a wide rocky platform. The sun was gradually rising higher and higher. Following the luminary, the ray slid along the dull golden scales on the nose of the ancient monster. The dragon, resembling a stone statue, did not seem to notice the hot touch of the sunny ray. The living mass of the dragon’s body still did not move, not noticing the gusts of wind as they rose the slightest swirl of dust, nor the obsidian floor, the same color as the columns, nor the tile remnants of last year’s grass on the ground below. The sunbeams, reflecting off the bodyguards’ polished armor as they stood, frozen and silent like statues, periodically turned into company for a large bright spot that had fallen from the column and touched the eyes of the Lord of the Sky. But he only closed his eyelids momentarily, not making one movement to turn away. Despite the master’s periodic glance in their direction, the bodyguards stayed still; they knew that in such moments, the master should not be bothered about trifles or about anything at all: behind the mask of imperturbability lay carefully hidden vexation, which could turn out to be something particularly unpleasant for any madman who dared to interrupt the Lord’s meditation or to cast an unguarded look at him.
The oppressive silence was disturbed by the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of a high arc located near the rock wall and covered by the shining haze of a subspace passageway. The emperor closed his eyes and listened. Sometimes he loved, as now, determining the state of a guest purely by sound. A firm step and the resounding clatter of riding boots spoke of the visitor’s confidence, but the creak of thick leather gloves clenched in a fist, and the slight whistling of the air drawn in through the nose destroyed the original impression. The subtle smell of sweat was indicative of the excitement and touch of fear that the tall young man was experiencing as he stood ten feet from the massive head of the old crystal dragon.
“Sit down, son.” The resonant bass, echoing among the columns, made the heir shiver nervously. The emperor secretly laughed to himself, although he did not show it. Obeying the unobtrusive gesture of his clawed paw, two comfortable chairs and a small table arose between him and the frozen young man. Two graceful elves emerged from the arc with trays in their hands. Without looking up from the floor tiles, they momentarily set the table, after which, bowing low and backing away, they disappeared into the silvery haze. “What are you standing there for?” asked the dragon sympathetically and immediately roared: “Sit in the armchair! Very good. Tell me, son.”
The young man, who could have passed equally well for twenty-five or thirty-five (sometimes there are people who are “frozen” on the threshold of some age line), nervously swished his hand over his head, pushing down his short spiky hair.
“What is it you want to know, Your Majesty?”
The emperor immediately changed hypostasis, took a step forward and slapped the heir across the face, hard.
“Why is that puppy still alive?” he asked, watching as the red contours of the monarch’s hand appeared on his son’s cheek. After standing for a few seconds, the emperor took a step back and sank into the second chair. “You do not have to answer. I am aware of your excuses.”
“Your Majesty, he is closely guarded. My agents have made four attempts; none of the killers came back. The scum killed the last pair personally, using an unknown kind of magic,” the heir swallowed, “all that was left of the dragons was a pair of dried mummies.”
“That is not an excuse. Do you understand that every day we lose our political foothold?”
“Yes, sire!”
“You understand that, and you’re not doing anything about it?!” the emperor asked quietly. The heir went pale. The bodyguards tried to blend in to the shadows. A shock wave shot from the monarch in all directions. Hazgar took a deep breath and calmed down. “You decided to play soldiers, son. I hoped that I brought you up as a manager, but every day I am more and more convinced that my heir has become a stubborn warrior, unable to get out of his boots and assess the situation as a future ruler, rather than as a general. I am disappointed.”
“Your majesty, I acknowledge my guilt fully and am prepared to undergo the necessary punishment.” The heir hung his head.
“Undergo it you will.” Hazgar smiled carnivorously. “You are my son. You are given much, but much is expected from you.”
The emperor took a bottle of effervescent wine from an ice bucket and filled two wine glasses with the burgundy liquid. He sipped the wine and thought for a long time. His son, trying not to disturb his parent, froze with the glass in his hand.
Hazgar was used to setting the conditions for others and imposing the rules of the game, but the appearance of a dragon in Raygor who called himself the son of the empress threw him for a loop. The boy stated that he was the keeper of the key to the interplanetary portals and could organize resettlement, for which they would need to win back the southern complex, which was occupied by Imperial legions. He backed up his words with evidence, the key, and the coat of arms—an unexpected move which violated the usual ideas about the rules of political games. Hmm, what rules are there in big politics, besides survival of the fittest? The conclave nearly ended in a mass brawl. Arriving in the capital, the prince found a real tangle of his subjects and titled individuals from other principalities snarling at one another. The boy was not there; the administrator sent him to his own fortress. There was a split in the country….
The Emperor himself had several times put on a spectacle involving an impostor with a supposed claim to the throne and had cleaned out the dissatisfied parties well, but now the situation had gotten out of control. The Great Mother unexpectedly supported the pretender. Earlier, the ruler of the Miur tried to keep aloof from worldly games. Now the dam of voluntary seclusion had burst. The blasted cat! What horrible timing. She suddenly decided to stick her nose into the situation he was planning to resolve with Prince Ora alone. In one move, he could end the war and turn the prince from an enemy into an ally. However, not all was lost. He had not yet abandoned his plans, because Ora had not refused him, only asked for time to think. In any case, the prince’s options were win-win, but could he keep dancing on the edge of a knife? He hoped the cute cats and their “mother” would not take the emerald dragon by the throat. No, they shouldn’t be able to. They ruined relations with him by betting on the new candidate for the imperial throne, or was “mother” sure of victory? What was she trying to achieve and what goals was she pursuing? Manyfaces, how tangled it all was! Where could he find a foothold? He sorely lacked reliable information. A whole fiver had passed since the conclave, but he still did not know what was going on around the new leader of the resistance, what forces he had on his side or what actions he intended to take. And it was no wonder: those who have experience in the art of being invisible had gathered around the jerk. Some of them had been organizing personal security for over a hundred years and some old farts for over a thousand. One thing was certain: t
he boy was coordinating his steps with the Miur ruler. The channel was maintained through the elves, but how? How, Manyfaces?! The emperor reached out his hand to the bottle and poured himself another glass. His son was not offered wine. The thorn in his side had the support of the clans of dragons who fought against the Celestial Empire three thousand years ago. Not every one, but enough to ensure that in one day, an independent power pole was formed in the principality, independent of the prince. Sources on the other side of the front informed him that the elves were acting not only as “signalers,” but the refugees had, in just a couple of days, formed a fully combat-ready militia, strengthened by a supply of a large batch of modern weapons. The impostor concluded an agreement with the ruler of the miur and the head of the council of forest elves. The treaty with the miur was so wide-reaching that the prince, who had met with the daughter of the Great Mother a day before, was dumbfounded by the cats’ impudence and treachery. The “son” and his entourage did not bother with politesse or etiquette, but he acted with all the grace of a wolf, breaking all the traditions. Which was understandable: time was working against them. The shabby ruler did not care at all for her reputation: several portals were opened on the ancestral lands of the old lunatic Turgar, who was the administrator of the conclave. His spies were not able to find out how many. But he knew that they spilled prides of combat cats out of their arcs like locusts. An hour later, the clan lands were covered with protective domes and shields. Attempts by the prince’s internal guards to disarm the uninvited guests were met with fierce resistance, which ended in the defeat of the legitimate ruler’s forces. The prince was again left on the sidelines, but some old dragons, remembering the old emperor, Jagirra’s father, who had previously held neutral positions, decided to side with Jagirra’s so-called son, along with their clans. Ora was between a rock and a hard place, one on one with the imperial army advancing on the capital of the principality. Hazgar rubbed his forearm. The family coat of arms burned like fire. The magical drawing did not lie; the young Kerrovitarr belonged to the ruling clan. It turned out that his niece had found a mate and produced offspring. How wise…. The girl had matured. Now if only he knew how many children she had and how she managed to give birth to a dragon while in elf hypostasis. Had she thrown off the “snare” spell? Should not have been able to. It was not within her power to break such a curse, especially when tied by her own family’s blood. Or did the miur mages manage to affect the fetus, and it developed in human form? If the assumption was true, then the “beloved niece” could produce more than one small heir, and Hazgar had no desire to catch another “flea.” He wanted to do away with Jagirra’s nest once and for all. After all, she had been hiding for about three thousand years. And could she have hidden anywhere else but with the miur? Perhaps, that was why the Great Mothers never supported any of the impostors. They knew where the real empress lived, and when the time came, took the side of her offspring. The beasts!
Hazgar again rubbed his shoulder and suddenly pounded his fist on the table, cursing in his soul the prince, the son who had played at war, the old cat that had emerged from her burrow, and himself, who had fallen for the child-like gambit. The pugnacious miur proved to be a dangerous and cunning opponent. She had played both prince and emperor like cornered mice. Hazgar grit his teeth. Three days ago, along the borders, all the spatial shields were restored in an unexpected way. His attempt to break through again ended in failure. The cat people easily burnt his assault legion and the thousands of mages he had allotted them. The vile scum—they did not mess around. In the borderlands, an ideal wasteland appeared with a diameter of ten leagues, an even circle, sprinkled with a thick layer of black ash. How much mana would a blow like that take? The cats do not have any true bloods. Where did they get power like that? The emperor did not dare send his superweapon into battle; he remembered well the slaughter in the mountains that took place three thousand years ago when his dragons, arranged in attacking formations, burned up like birds in a forest fire. They meant to isolate the miur from the rest of the world and starve them out. Without food supplies from the outside, they would either quickly become kind and complaisant or die from dystrophy. Hazgar was not planning to go meet them in the underground caverns; the “moms” had turned Mount Lidar into a real fortress, which was too tough for him. The presence of three dozen true bloods in reserve was not the decisive factor in a future battle.
“Your Majesty!”
The emperor turned to the voice. Near the arc, a man was bent in a low bow, in the uniform of a messenger. Hazgar grinned knowingly. The old palace lizards were afraid to butt in during his conversation with his son, but they found a decent way to do what needed to be done: they sent a human. The emperor would kill him in anger, and who cares; there are a lot of humans…. “A message for you from Prince Ora!” he said a cheerful voice and bowed even lower.
“Give it to me,” Hazgar extended his hand. After handing the packet over, the messenger turned on his heels and left calmly. Neither the father nor the son caught a whiff of fear. Hazgar drummed his fingers on the table several times: an interesting human. He ought to instruct the head of security to collect a small detailed file on him. If there was nothing defamatory, he should promote the biped and bring him closer to himself.
“Your Highness, may I know what it says?” his son spoke up.
“You may. All the more so since this message concerns my heir directly.” Hazgar attached his personal seal to Prince Ora’s print that was on the letter, thus removing one cunning interweave. If any tried to open the letter other than the person to whom it was addressed, he would lose his hands. “Interesting,” Hazgar said, looking at the thin infoplast, “what revelations does Ora want to tell? A simple letter is not enough for him.”
The Emperor became absorbed in reading. At first, his face brightened, but the state of satisfaction did not last long; the third page contained a description of something unpleasant. Hazgar read the message and put it aside:
“The prince has accepted my offer, hmm, and is ready to join the campaign against the pretender.”
“So easily, your majesty? Old man Ora is not so simple; he can benefit from any situation.”
“How right you are. For some reason, the old man knows how to calculate the odds and agrees to become related….”
“WHAT?!”
“Ora agrees to give his daughter in marriage to the heir to the empire. I suggested forgetting the enmity and said that I will not destroy those dragons and humans faithful to His Lordship.
“But how, why? The girl just turned three hundred years old.”
“Age is not a drawback to be paid attention to. Unlike you, she is able to think in the interests of the state and consciously step over the idolaters fallen at her feet. Ilirra is smart and, what is most important to you, beautiful. Her dowry is good, but it seems to me that after my death, she will rule the country, not you. The girl has a real managerial talent, far beyond yours. It is really an excellent match. Now, let us see what my crowned fellow wants to show us.”
The emperor ran his finger along the lateral rib of the infoplast. A three-dimensional illusion of a huge military camp from a bird’s-eye view unfolded above the serving table.
The emperor took the letter, read it again, glanced into the distance and began to listen carefully to the speech of the ghostly prince.
Principality of Ora. Turgar’s ancestral lands. Andy, T minus six hours…
Andy sank in exhaustion onto the hard narrow cot. Only a little time was left; he had to sleep, had to…. Mimiv immediately appeared beside him. The cat twisted around herself a couple of times, opened her jaws, and sniffed the hide of the animal, which smelled of sweat, moth, and lily of the valley, which at the same time served as a cloak and veil, and, turning her tail, lay down next to the were-dragon. A minute later, only two sounds were left inside the curtain of silence Andy put up: Andy’s rhythmic breathing (he fell asleep instantly) and Mimiv’s happy purring.
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Principality of Ora. Raygor. T minus six days…
Even in his worst nightmares, Andy could not have imagined the real avalanche of events that would follow his openness at the conclave. He felt as if he had served as the trigger for the ensuing political explosion. And he was not far from the truth. The heads of tribes and old clans who had fought against the self-proclaimed emperor three thousand years ago instantly evaluated the situation and accepted him as the son of the legal empress.
Turgar was the first to come to his senses. The ancient dragon looked in disbelief for a few seconds at the crystal dragon that had appeared instead of the boy, going over the disparate facts and events of the last five or six centuries in his head. The picture of the world that did not want to evolve before had now acquired a finished form and clarity. The dragon cautiously touched the key with his claw and pulled his paw away—the strong electric discharge that slipped between the artifact and the curious Lord of the Sky testified that the young strong crystal dragon was the keeper of the key, and that the key was not a fake.
Very interesting… If the boy were telling the truth, the imperial troops’ unexpected intervention and the emperor’s desire to take the portal became clear. Activation of the key undid part of the seals put on by the true bloods of Ilanta. But how did the key get to Nelita? Turgar was aware of the historical fact that the keys were left on the heavenly neighbor. That meant…. The old dragon looked at Kerrovitarr and the artifact hanging on his chest with a blood-red stone in the center. It can not be…. The interplanetary portals were sealed, and none of them worked, which meant the boy was a true blood and somehow able to move from planet to planet. Only true bloods possessed a practically unlimited mana reserve. Turgar looked at the square covered in dragons and locked eyes with a couple of them just as old and crazy as himself. Apparently, the same thoughts came to their minds as well. The old people nodded at his silent question and, ignoring the uproar and hubbub, began to actively make their way to the dais. Several perceptive younger heads of clans followed in the ancient dragons’ wake. The wedge cut through the crowd and settled directly at the dais. The young people immediately began building a protective dome. Turgar grinned approvingly. The young male and female dragons were much more intelligent than he thought. They quickly calculated the chances of survival of their families and clans in the besieged country and decided to join the guardian of the key. The possibility of avoiding inevitable death was paltry; the hope of a successful outcome was much preferred. Even if some dragons perished while attacking the captured portal, the death of several members of the clan does not mean the disappearance of the whole clan. It was a chance, a real chance to survive. They were the first who seized by its elusive tail. None of them had illusions, they knew that the emperor would somehow or another eventually suppress the principality, and with it all those who were opposed to his will. Hazgar’s policy of complete and total destruction of opponents pushed them towards a natural alliance with the heavenly guest….